Page 38 of Beehive

I vaulted over a stack of discarded crates. My fingers grazed damp walls for balance as I careened forward.

The Soviets were relentless.

Another gunshot cracked the air, ricocheting off the brickwork near my head.

Too close.

Far too close.

I turned sharply, emerging onto a busier street. Faint hope that a crowd might shield me was short-lived. The NKVD’s men didn’t hesitate to shove aside civilians. The MGB would simply shoot their way through.

A delivery truck idled near the curb, its driver arguing with a pedestrian. I leaped onto the back and clung to the cold metal railing. The truck lurched forward, the driver oblivious to his new passenger. For a fleeting moment, I thought I might have gained the upper hand.

Then another jeep appeared, its headlights slicing through the rain.

One of the Soviets leaned out the passenger side, a rifle trained on me.

I dropped from the truck just as the shot rang out, rolling painfully onto the pavement. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs and drove my sidearm into my ribs, but I forced myself upright and stumbled toward a bombed-out shell of a building.Broken furniture littered the floor, and the faint smell of mildew clung to everything. Only a portion of the roof had survived. Rain pelted my head and shoulders as hard as when I’d been outside.

I ducked behind an overturned table, pulling my Luger free.

The sound of tires screeching sent a fresh wave of panic through me.

The first man entered cautiously, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the street. I steadied my breathing and tightened my grip on the pistol.

He took another step forward, his rifle raised.

I fired.

The shot was deafening in the confined space. The man crumpled to the ground.

Shouts erupted outside.

They now knew that I was armed.

Good. Let them hesitate.

I slipped out the back of the building, my boots crunching over broken glass and fragments of brick. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the chill in the air was sharper. The rain had brought an unseasonable chill.

My strength was waning. I could feel the cold seeping into my bones. The chase was taking its toll.

The Soviets were on me within minutes.

This time, there were no more alleys, no more abandoned buildings to duck into.

I found myself cornered in a narrow courtyard, its high walls offering no escape. The jeep’s headlights pinned me in place, the glare blinding. When a second jeep pulled up and flipped its search light to high beam, shadows moved toward me.

Rifles glinted.

“??????? ????????. ?????? ??!”

I couldn’t understand the man’s words but suddenly realized they weren’t shooting.

They wanted me alive.

That was thelastthing any sane person would ever want. The Soviets were brutal. Their enmity was aimed differently than my Führer’s had been; and still, theirs was enmity and brutality to match any regime.

They couldnottake me alive.